


These Tender Moments Are Born From Pain

by orphan_account



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 11:57:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9122470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It's probably not a mistake to cuddle with the enemy (maybe one day i'll write more of this)(i wrote more of it)





	1. Chapter 1

Glanni Glæpur sleeps like a child. There’s a ridiculous amount of pillows on the bed, several smaller blankets that are tangled in the criminal’s arms. He holds one of the smaller ones in a clutched fist. Some of them look fleecy, just like children’s comfort items, and some are clearly larger and more high quality items. He sleeps on his back, head turned into the pillow, and his face is peaceful. 

 

He looks soft, for a hardened criminal who’s chest is currently criss-crossed with stained bandages. The black eye ringing his left eye almost looks like it could be just part of his eyemakeup, which, somehow, is still done and not smudged.

 

Glanni stretches on his sheets, squinting slightly in the ray of sun that crossed over his face. He squinted his eyes closed tightly again and drags his knuckles out against the headboard, lying for a moment with his hands above his head, back arched slightly off the mattress. 

 

He yawns, and squints his eyes open again. The sunbeam crosses over his eyes, and he turns over onto his side, facing opposite the window with a grumble.

 

Íþróttaálfurinn crosses his arms, lifting up a hand to scratch at his stubble. 

 

He was supposed to be here to arrest him, or at the very least, he was here to participate in one of their merry chases. What he hadn’t expected is a Glanni who was vulnerable, and from the looks of it, probably unable to run away. He was standing next to the open window, to Glanni’s rolled over back, and he can see why the criminal bandaged his chest.

 

A single red spot has spread out from his lower ribcage, and Íþróttaálfurinn feels his blood run a little cold. He was either looking at a stab wound or a bullet hole. 

 

He hears Glanni murmur something, and the criminal flops back over, hand over his face. Íþróttaálfurinn takes a hesitant step towards the door, silently crossing the room until he’s in front of the tv facing the bed.

 

Then Glanni notices the open window and sits straight up in the bed, staring a sheepish Íþróttaálfurinn, leg already halfway in the air for the next step.

 

He shuffles frantically as Íþróttaálfurinn holds his hands out- “Wait- Wait, Glæpur-”

 

Glanni is already standing, out of the bed and holding onto the strap of a bag that had been beside the bed. His eyes dart from it to Íþróttaálfurinn, and Íþróttaálfurinn slowly lowers his hands. 

 

“I’m….I’m just here to-”

 

He stares at Glanni’s feet- both bandaged. Glanni’s left arm- bandaged. He’s wearing underwear, at the very least, but it’s visually very obvious that something big happened to the criminal between the last time Íþróttaálfurinn saw him and now. 

 

Glanni looks at the open window, and throws the bag out of it. Íþróttaálfurinn gapes, and takes a step forward, and Glanni follows the bag, long legs vaulting him out of the hotel.

 

Injured and in nothing but his underwear.

 

Íþróttaálfurinn rushes to the window, immediately preparing to push off of the sill when a smoke bomb explodes in his face. Glanni is showing considerable athletic prowess for an injured man as Íþróttaálfurinn leaps off the window, grabbing onto the opposite building’s fire escape. He sees Glanni stumble as he vaults over the side of the roof, and by the time he’s rushed up the stairs, Glanni Glæpur is nowhere to be seen.

 

Injured feet, injured left arm, possible open wound in his side, running somewhere around Greedytown in only his underwear. 

 

Íþróttaálfurinn sighs, and sits down on the roof. That man didn’t know how to care for himself.

 

The next time Íþróttaálfurinn sees Glanni, it’s at a cocktail bar. It’s only three days later. The man has a disguise on, but it’s hastily made, and Íþróttaálfurinn can tell a Glanni pout when he sees one. The man at the bar he’s talking to and him are cross-legs, very much in each other’s space as they share a hookah, and Íþróttaálfurinn feels something unrecognizable throb in his chest.

 

Anger?

 

Ah, doesn’t matter. 

 

The man slides Glanni a prescription bottle, and Glanni reaches into his bag, pulling out a small box. He smiles, pulling down the collar of the black turtleneck he’s wearing slightly, and leans over to whisper something in the man’s ear. The pills go in the bag. The box goes in the man’s pocket. Money lays down on the bar, and the two vanish towards the fire exit. 

 

Íþróttaálfurinn follows, heading out the front door and swinging around to the side. He squats behind the dumpster and watches.

 

The two tangle with each other in the alleyway, and Glanni pops two of the pills into his mouth, looking coy as the other man slides between his legs.

 

And then stumbles backwards, and Glanni draws himself to his full height, pulling the brim of the hat down over his eyes. The man passes out, and Glanni slips the box out of his pocket and opens it a fraction. He snaps it shut again, and puts it back in his bag, pulling out the man’s wallet and starting to take his suit jacket off when Íþróttaálfurinn steps around the corner.

 

Glanni stares at him, and sighs, slinging the jacket over his shoulders. He tugs it down, and brushes the shoulder off.

 

“Nowhere to run.”

 

“Really?” Glanni’s nervous. His pitch is higher than it is normally, but he’s putting up a much better front that ‘panicking and jumping out a window’ this time.

 

“How are your injuries? You probably shouldn’t be drinking and smoking with them.”

 

“Well, thanks for your concern, but I’m just fine.”

 

Íþróttaálfurinn takes a step forward. Glanni takes two back. Íþróttaálfurinn sighs, and walks forward until he’s got Glanni pinned against the chainlink in the back of the alleyway. Glanni bolts to the left, and Íþróttaálfurinn  swings out an arm and catches him by the throat, dropping like a dead weight to the concrete with Glanni atop him, and hooks his legs around Glanni’s hips. He flexes his arm, and Glanni’s head drops forward.

 

Íþróttaálfurinn  waits a moment, and then releases. Glanni slumps forward, and Ithro sighs, putting his forehead against the back of Glanni’s neck for a moment before hoisting the man onto his back. 

 

It wasn’t the first time he’d woken up tied to a bed, probably wouldn’t be the last. He remembers Íþróttaálfurinn  putting him in a chokehold, but he’s woken up outside of the jail cell he expected, or, worse, the hospital. He squirms slightly, attempting to dislodge the blindfold. It he had a better view of the knots, he might be able to dislocate his thumb or perhaps dislodge whatever part of the bed he was attached to.

 

This was weird for Íþróttaálfurinn’s doing. No time to think about it, though. He puts his head against the backboard he’s propped up against and positions the knot of the blindfold above the actual slip of the blindfold, and starts gently rucking it up by rubbing his head on the board. He’s eventually successful, and tosses the offending strip of fabric off by throwing his head to the side. He hisses as it pulls on his side, and looks above himself to see what he’s been bound with. Rope handcuffs. Okay, handcuff knot. 

 

No big.

 

He’s tied to a lamp on the wall.

 

Glanni slowly pulls his wrists forward, looking around the room quickly. It’s dark, and there’s no evidence of anyone actually having spent time here. His bag sits on the table, and he narrows his eyes. 

 

Íþróttaálfurinn.

 

Idiot.

 

He rotates his wrists gently, wiggling his fingers as he pulls more blood back into them. The nature of the knot is based on the proportional pull of his body DOWN to keep the knot tight on the lamp, and as much as he’d like to rip the damn thing out of the wall, it wouldn’t be that hard to….pull…...himself….up.

 

Oh, Íþróttaálfurinn, you fucking bastard.

 

He’s not doing a pull-up.

 

Glanni yanks his wrists forward instead, and the wall’s plaster crumbles softly onto his head and back, dusting him with white as he grits his teeth. His arm burns with the effort, he flops back down into the pillows, wincing as it tugs on his shoulders. Ugh. Effective to keep him tied in, but putting some severe strain on his shoulders. 

 

His eyes dart to the bag on the table. His knife was SO CLOSE, and so was the pain medication. 

 

Well, if the pain medication was that close….

 

Glanni takes a deep breath and yanks, and the lamp flies out of the wall.

 

Ah, cheap motels.

 

And then the lamp smashes into his foot, and Glanni lets out a high pitched yelp and folds in on himself, tears springing up in his eyes. He’s curled up on his side when Íþróttaálfurinn throws the door open, and he gives a full body flinch as the sound echos, and Íþróttaálfurinn is immediately by his side, undoing the knot and moving the lamp. He’s murmuring something softly, a hand rubbing at Glanni’s shoulder as he untangles the ropes and takes Glanni’s hand in his. 

 

“Bag.” Glanni whispers, wiping his face and nose on the back of his arm. “Please.”

 

Íþróttaálfurinn brings him the bag, flipping it open and digging out the medication. 

 

“I’ll get you some water.”

 

Glanni swallows them dry the second Íþróttaálfurinn turns away, closing his eyes. He curls up further, hunched over his wounds. The world fades in and out for a moment, and Íþróttaálfurinn is talking to him, pushing his body from it’s curled up position to settle him back on the pillows.

 

And then he passes out. 

 

He comes too pressed against something that is not a pillow. 

 

He’s aware of this because it’s  _ vaguely hairy, and harder. _

 

He shuffles slightly, and tilts his head back to see Íþróttaálfurinn, reading a book with one hand. He glances down at Glanni, and makes a small ‘ah’, noise. “Good morning.”

 

Glanni feels warm, and clears his throat. He’s cuddled up to his greatest enemy, a man who has broken his nose before, shirtless, in a hotel bed. Cuddling him. He’s wearing glasses. 

 

He’s not processing this. Íþróttaálfurinn slides out from underneath him and leans over to the nightstand, coming back with two of the pills and a glass of water. “The bottle said every 8 hours, yes?”

 

He takes them hesitantly. “....sure.”

 

Íþróttaálfurinn watches him swallow, and Glanni slowly shuffles himself away from Íþróttaálfurinn’s hips. 

 

Far too close.

 

“.............Jail?”

 

Oh, that didn’t make sense. Wow, Íþróttaálfurinn’s chest. Did he have to be shirtless?

 

Íþróttaálfurinn looks up from his book, and puts closes his book, tossing it on the nightstand. He puts his reading glasses ontop of it, and scratches his jawline.

 

“Had no inclination to take a man who can barely walk to jail.”

 

“I didn’t know you read.”

 

“I am literate.” Íþróttaálfurinn’s smiling at him like he can tell how absolutely flustered he is, taking complete advantage of his confusion.

 

_ Got less flustered fucking a man in an alleyway than I am here and now.  _

 

“Go back to bed.”

 

“How disgustingly domestic of you.”

 

“I won’t rub your feet.”

 

The snipping back and forth was more comfortable. It fell into their normal practice, except the pain wasn’t from being smashed into the concrete of an alleyway. 

 

Eventually, the pain medication overwhelmed him. Íþróttaálfurinn watches as his eyelids lower, and eventually, stops responding to Glanni as the man slips back into sleep. 

 

He glances down at his hand. Sometime between chattering sleepily about Íþróttaálfurinn’s fashion sense and and insulting him, Glanni’s hand had found it’s way into Íþróttaálfurinn’s, and was now interlocked with his. 

 

Which meant he couldn’t work out while Glaepur was asleep.

 

Can’t move a sleeping cat. Íþróttaálfurinn smiles to himself and picks the book back up. 


	2. Chase me to the end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Who would I chase?"
> 
> "What a SELFISH hero."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapters got some vomit in it and graphic mentions of wounds but we're still on this "two men figuring out what they are to each other" thread going.....this relationship aint sunshine n rainbows just bc the last chapter was fluffy in terms of script, ithro locked glanni in a room. cmon

Glanni rolls over onto his stomach, blearily rubbing his eyes. A quick glance out the window confirms his suspicions- it's night again. He groans, lowering his face to the pillow as his stomach gurgles quietly. A mixture of the pain medication and his growing stress was starting to upset his stomach, and he can barely remember eating- mostly Ithro prodding his lips with various food items, usually fish. 

His stomach lurches, and he cuts back a whimper and drops his face into the pillow. Fish, fruit, vegetables. He'd kill for a drink right now. 

He flips back over and sits up, the process slow now that his body has caught up with the idea that it's been wounded. He lightly sets his feet on the tile and winces, the cold sinking into his feet as he stands up. 

Ithro sits up on his side of the bed immediately, staring at Glanni suspiciously.

"I don't owe you an excuse for having to go to the bathroom."

Christ, is that his voice? He sounds ragged. He takes a step forward to head toward the bathroom, and Ithro stands out of the bed and rushes over to him as he doubles over, sweeping him back onto the bed. Before he can fully process the dizzying movement, he's got a bin between his legs and he's vomiting. 

He pushes it away to avoid the smell, and hiccups, trying to tamp down the distress of burning in his throat, barely being able to walk across a room, and currently sitting in his greatest enemy's lap and vomiting into a trash can. Ithro is warm against his back, and his hands are constantly- everywhere. Constantly everywhere. He's incredibly touchy-feely, a constant connection to another person that Glanni hasn't experienced outside of flings. It's almost overwhelming. He wants to cry and shove Ithro away, wants to walk away on his own two feet instead of being bridal carried to the bathroom every time he wakes up. He hasn't had a shower in forever, and his skin feels sticky and warm.

Ithro's voice is distant. "I think you're sick."

"No SHIT." He snaps, and his stomach gurgles again. Ithro pushes the bin back into his hands, and Glanni dry heaves. 

Ithro gently sets him on the side of the bed, rubbing his back as he heads out of Glanni's vision. He sets the trash can on the floor, and swipes a hand over his mouth as a water bottle pops into view.

"I want to shower."

"Of course."  
He closes his eyes as Ithro lifts him into his arms, swaying slightly as he's carried into the motel bathroom and placed on the toilet seat. 

"Alone."

Ithro visibly hesitates. "I-"

 

He scratches his stubble, and Glanni pointedly avoids looking at his own face in any sort of reflection, settling on staring at his own feet.

"The cuts-"

"How many days have you been taking care of me." He keeps his tone flat. 

"....Five." 

"My stitches are closed, then."

"You'll need a stool-"

"Then get me one."

Ithro exits the bathroom without another word, not closing the door behind him. An unspoken 'do not lock me out'. 

Glanni starts to remove the bandages, noting the hydrogen peroxide, suture kits, and fresh rolls of bandages on the counter. Prepared.

He grits his teeth and peels. 

Ithro eventually comes back as Glanni's on his knee, leaning over the tub edge to turn the faucet. Ithro gently sets the stool down, startling Glanni as he jerks up to fast and hisses, hesitantly cupping a hand over the stitches on his side, but Ithro's already seen it. It's an ugly, jagged slice into his side, and while it looks like it's been sutured well, the wound itself is still a damaged looking mottled mess. 

Ithro steps into the bathroom and Glanni lifts his eyebrows, challenging him with a stare. 

Get out. 

Ithro steps back, and pulls the door partially closed.

This is the privacy you get. 

Glanni throws the bar of soap at the retreating legs, and it flies back in momentarily and lands in the soap dish.

"SHOW OFF."

Ithro laughs from the other room, sounding hearty. Glanni grumbles.

"I'm going to make dinner. Don't take too long in the shower."

Glanni doesn't respond. Don't take so long that my paranoia kicks in and I come scrub your dick for you, yeah, yeah. 

He won't ask why Ithro's doing this for him. That'll break their game. That voids their peace. Unspoken. Glanni will run away once he's well, Ithro will chase. He hasn't even gone through Glanni's bag. It sits, untouched, on Glanni's side of the bed. 

He plops down on the stool in the shower and arranges himself so his feet aren't in the puddling water, wincing as the warm water ripples over his stitches. He sits like that until his hand grows tired of holding it over his head. He starts gently scrubbing at the dried blood and other caked fluids, exhaling quietly as he feels the second skin of clammy sweat wash down the drain. 

Once he's done, he sits on the stool and lets the water wash gently over the cuts on his feet, checking over the scabbed up lumps.

"So.. what happened?"

Glanni jumps, squeezing his legs together and covering himself as he stares out the doorway. Ithro is visible, but his back is turned, not looking inward.

"How long -"

"When I heard the water turn off. I'm not peeking."

Glanni sighs.

If he was going to be like that.

"Come in here and help me bandage."

Ithro springs up, moving much more energetic than when Glanni was snipping at him earlier, and Glanni plops on the toilet with a towel wrapped around his hips. Ithro's hands are delicate with his feet, and for a man who's broken his nose and roughed him up more times than he can count- he sure is treating Glanni like porcelain. 

Glanni stops. He's been sleeping all day, eating packaged food, someone is waiting on him hand and foot. Sure, Ithro is making him eat somewhat healthy meals, and he's helping him stretch, but overall? This is very much in his favor. He isn't calling the cops on his injured ass, as least. 

Ithro looks up at him through lowered lashes, stopping with the bandage wrapped halfway around Glanni's ankle.

"Too tight?"

Glanni looks away. "It's fine."

The bandages get finished up, Ithro's calloused hands lingering on his ribs, tender on his wrist. It's intimate. Glanni hates it. He doesn't understand it. This is not wooing, it's not flirting- It's care. 

It's inappropriate and embarrassing is what it is. Glanni shaves his jaw with Ithro's straightrazor, managing not to nick himself, and then washes the rest of his smeared makeup off, and tenderly walks back into the main room, half expecting to be swept off his feet. 

Ithro's doing pushups in the small corner of the room. The table beside him has some sort of fish and vegetable dish on it, and Glanni grimaces slightly. At least they were past the stages of Ithro trying to force Glanni to eat something. He plops down in the chair as Ithro keeps working out and starts on the fish.

"Feeling better?"

"Enough."

"How's your temperature?" 

"If you try to put a thermometer in me, you'll have to give me wine with this dinner."

Ithro gives another one of his jovial laughs before switching to situps, and Glanni reaches for the medication bottle. 

It's full. 

He looks at Ithro.

Ithro looks at him between sit ups. 

He tilts the pill bottle at him.

"You needed a refill."

That's that, is it?

Glanni stands up and moves back toward the bed, stepping gingerly over Ithro as he curls back up between the sheets. Ithro gets up, moves the medication and the water glass to the bedside table, and goes back to it. Glanni opens one eye and watches his head bob up and down over the edge of the bed.

He doesn't make sense.

They're silent for a while, as Ithro does some sort of general workout regiment. He stretches every part of his body, and Glanni simply enjoys his show as he mulls over what it would look like to leave and what staying looks like. He hasn't tried to leave yet- likely because it's been five days of waking up at 10am, Ithro having food for him, drinking water, and medicating. Ithro said he'd been mainly watching tv for entertainment through his medicated hours, and left it at that. Ithro himself was in and out, more often when Glanni was sleeping.

But Ithro had also gotten him more of the medication, implying that he should keep taking it. 

So what happened when this was over?

What happened when Glanni's wounds were closed up, when he could run away?

Ithro would chase. But what did this encounter mean? 

Nothing.

It had to mean nothing.

Ithro flops down on the other side of the bed and the light turns off. Glanni glances at the clock. 8:08. Of course.

Glanni takes the pills, and he can almost feel Ithros eyes on him. There's an uncomfortable air starting from the previously comfortable silence of Glanni watching Ithro stretch himself out.

Glanni silently rolls over to the center of the bed, and meets Ithro's eyes.

Ithro stares back for a while.

"You know I'll chase you when you run."

"It's more comfortable than being trapped in a room." His response is dry, but he means it.

"Just let me take care of it until you can run again."

Glanni puts his hand on Ithro's. 

"Taking care of someone isn't about being overbearingly worried."

Silence.

"I can't believe I'm taking relationship advice from a criminal."

"Who you are stubbornly not turning in."

"Who would I chase?"

"What a SELFISH hero."

Ithro's hand squeezes his. 

They fall asleep like that.


End file.
